


mourning and longing

by bukkunkun



Series: Make It Worse [4]
Category: Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Comfort/Angst, Feel-good, Gen, Headcanon, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Introspection, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, felt like y'all (and especially peter!) deserved a break, finally a fic where nothing bad happens, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 14:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20136889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: Peter wasn't alone in the world, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the universe decided to give him a break.They say things calmed down before the storm, but right now, Peter would rather take things one at a time.





	mourning and longing

**Author's Note:**

> > i can't be the only person who wished those nice villagers in the netherlands offered peter some form of comfort like a warm blanket or a hot soup meal while he waited for happy
>> 
>> — 🔮 bukkun, MSc 🌟 Spider-Man PS4 🕷 (@trickscd) [August 6, 2019](https://twitter.com/trickscd/status/1158578019813875712?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)
> 
> i thought we all (and especially peter!) deserve a break. i know i sure do because im currently going through my second midlife crisis and i'm only 23 lmao so this is how i deal with my world falling apart around me, i guess !
> 
> i'm really glad happy was there for petey..... wahhh
> 
> shout out to my fellow filipinos, the pinoy ned headcanons are for all y'all and also myself
> 
> **EDIT:** for non-Filipinos, arroz caldo is chicken rice porridge, champorado is chocolate rice porridge and “chikiting” is technically slang for “little kid”.

Peter knew he didn’t have long until he went under again. The moment the glass shattered in his mind, the green mist that surrounded Mysterio dragged him back under, kicking and screaming. 

He led himself to the train to get hit. Trapped under the glass, he could feel his tingling senses even more acutely, and he could sense it coming a mile away. It was fast approaching and he only had one chance at it—and by _ god _ was he grateful he took it. 

The impact of the train slamming into him was indescribable. It _ hurt, _ it burned from the inside out, the sensation of splintering bones and screaming muscles tearing through his mind like it was the only thing he could think of, and his scream cut off right as he went under, caught up in the intricate workings of the chassis under the train cart. 

It felt like the glass shattered all over again. The pain spread like a wildfire that ignited the green gas like the way he saw dragons did in _ How To Train Your Dragon, _and for a moment of brief, startling clarity, Peter bit back a sob. 

He watched that with Ned on a sick day, once upon a time on a rainy day in Queens. The two of them were still in middle school then, rained in and down with the flu, bundled up together under layers and layers of bedsheets and blankets in their private little pillow fort. May and Ned’s mother helped them set the whole thing up, and then offered to whip up _ arroz caldo _ for the freezing little _ chikitings _while Peter and Ned went through two whole boxes of tissues from their colds, and from crying about Toothless and Hiccup’s father. 

Back then, Peter loved hanging out with Ned, but that was a hangout like any other. There were more to follow, with Ned’s mom’s _ champorado _ and May’s hot chocolate, Netflix and Amazon Prime movies and pillow forts, even as teenagers on a weekend goofing off. 

Now, though, thousands of miles far from home, Peter wished with all his might for those days to be back. To have his friends back by his side, to have Ned and MJ’s hands to hold, to tell him he would be alright again. 

The pain from the train slamming into him and him subsequently getting caught in the chassis did shock him into clarity, though. It was enough—enough to start thinking straight, to start even _ trying _to plan an escape Beck’s influence on him, to stop that madman from hurting anyone else. 

God, he didn’t even know _ why _ Beck was doing this. There had to be more to it than just wanting to replace Tony in the vacuum he left after dying. 

And then there was Tony, and—

Something slammed into Peter’s back, tearing a scream from his throat, and the teen realised that something along the railroad track had scratched him. He jolted awake, eyes shooting open to remember where he was—trapped in the chassis of some fast-moving train—and he winced, gritting his teeth as he crawled his way out from under the train car. 

Truth be told, he didn’t know if the train trick would work. He didn’t know if it would be enough to startle him into clarity, but he had no other choice. 

Anyway, if he failed, at least he wouldn’t be trapped under _ that man, _ to be his plaything for the rest of his days. At least Peter would have died still as a hero, as _ himself, _ and not as Beck’s little puppy, ready to die if Beck wanted him to.

Which he didn’t, Peter realised, and shivered at the thought of it. Beck wanted him _ alive, _ wanted him for his own, to abuse again and again until Peter was no longer himself, and it _ sickened _ him to know that there was some part of him that _ wanted _ Beck to do it.

It wasn’t even because of Beck’s drug on him. A few days ago, what felt like a _ lifetime _ ago, Peter _ wanted _ to let Beck in. He _ wanted _to give in to the man, after seeing his handsome smile, feeling his warm hand wrapped around his in that tight, reassuring grip. 

Some part of Peter _ wanted _ to let Beck take the mantle, _ wanted _ Beck to take care of him, to protect him the same way Tony had so long ago. God, Peter _ wanted _ Beck, felt the attraction between them when they first worked together, illusion or no. It didn’t help that Beck was handsome, exactly his type of man, and even manipulated him so sweetly in the very way that Peter wanted to be treated by a kind older man. Treated him the way Peter wanted to be treated by the adults around him—as an equal, as someone more than capable of saving the damn _ world, _ because he was an Avenger, for crying out loud, he wasn’t _ some kid! _

And yet—

And yet. 

As Peter dragged his broken body out of the chassis, he didn’t fight the tears that flowed down his face. He pulled himself into the train car as he began to cry harder, sobbing into his hands as he dropped himself onto a chair. His body screamed in protest, fractured bones and bleeding muscles in the middle of hyper-healing damaged anew with his reckless movement. Peter didn’t care—his body would heal, but he didn’t know if his mind would be the same. If his heart would ever heal from this again.

Ned, MJ, May—he missed them. He missed them so much. He wished he could call them, to hold them in his arms again. To feel _ safe _again.

Everything he touched was cursed. It was like the universe decided that Peter Benjamin Parker was never allowed to be happy, and Peter couldn’t help but feel that he deserved it. 

Especially after letting Tony Stark die. Of all the people who deserved to be in that spot, to give their lives for something far greater than their own, Tony didn’t deserve to die. 

If he was in any better state, Peter would even say that he would go sue whoever it was who wrote this awful movie script, because he sure didn’t like it. 

But this was real life, and in real life, no matter how crazy things could get, people who died _ stayed _ dead. 

Peter melted against the seat, still sniffling as he continued to cry, and eventually fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

* * *

And then woke up in the Netherlands, because _ of course _ his rotten luck would take him there. He was _ definitely _ way too far away from his friends—_Beck’s new targets—_and he had to move, and _ fast. _ Limping out of the jail he broke himself out of, he made his way through a little market to borrow a phone, and almost sobbed in relief when the man gave it to him willingly.

“I—I… thanks.” Peter said weakly. “Th-thank you.” He looked at his phone, running his aching hand through his hair. He was glad that most of his wounds were healing, but it would be a long way to go before he was completely okay. He bit his lip. God, he didn’t know who to call.

The portly man’s wife gave him a once-over, and she tutted. Peter looked at her sheepishly, and watched her hurry back into their home. He looked at her husband, who gave him a kind smile. 

“She like you.” He said, nodding eagerly, and Peter looked dubious. 

She ran away from him, actually, but sure, he wanted to say, when the woman came back out with a warm fleece blanket in her arms. She fussed over Peter as she threw it over his shoulders, and his eyes widened, the dam on his emotions breaking as he burst into tears. The couple shared alarmed looks, and the woman pulled him into a reassuring hug, tutting softly as she rubbed his back comfortingly. 

“Oh, no, oh no.” She said in broken English, “Happy. You be happy.” 

Peter clung to her, as an idea came to mind, his eyes widening. “Happy. Gotta call Happy.”

“Yes, yes. Happy. Happy.” The woman nodded, pulling away to wipe his tears away with her apron, and she gave him a kind smile, cupping his face in her hands. “Call happy home. Be happy.”

He gave her a weak smile, nodding, and she pulled away from him to offer him privacy as he called Happy. 

“Please pick up, please pick up.” He mumbled, and when the line pulled through, his heart _ sang. _

“_Peter? Kid? Are you okay?_” Happy asked, and _ now, _ truly, Peter felt safer than he ever had these past few days. 

“Happy, I—” He choked back a sob. “I need you to come pick me up.”

* * *

Stark Industries jets were a work of art, really. They never needed runways to land or take off, they were practically silent in the sky, and the sight of Tony’s surname on a familiar piece of technology was enough to let Peter feel like he was safe again, even if that was exactly what Beck used to keep breaking his heart. 

When the ramp descended and Happy stepped out, Peter’s eyes welled with tears, gripping his blanket tightly as the man spotted him, and hurried towards him.

“Peter? Are you okay?” Happy called over the sound of the jet’s engines, but then panic seized him. 

What if this was Beck’s doing? What if this was just like back in Berlin? What if—

“Wait!” Peter screamed, holding up his hand, and Happy froze, holding his hands up defensively. “Is it—is it really you? H-Happy, is that—is that you?” He limped a little closer, shivering in both the cold and the rush of fear that was only amplified by the drug he was sure was still inside him. 

“Is it me—yeah, of course it’s me!” 

“Stop!” Peter sobbed, insistently holding his hand up at Happy, and the man hesitated, looking confusedly at him. “Tell me something only you would know!” His voice wavered, and he could see the exact moment the man’s heart broke in his chest as Happy’s expression softened on him.

“Only I would know.” Happy echoed, “W-well, uh… remember when we went to Germany?” He asked, “You pay-per-viewed a video in your room? They didn’t list the titles but I could tell from the price that it was an adult film at the front desk, and you—”

“Yeah, okay, it’s you.” Peter let out a sigh of relief, and he rushed into Happy’s arms, the man blinking confusedly at him, but he hugged Peter back, bundling his fleece blanket around him before he gingerly led Peter onto the plane. “I’m so glad to see you.” He said weakly, sniffling as his hands balled into fists in Happy’s coat, and the older man’s expression tightened.

“Peter, you’re gonna have to tell me what the hell’s going on here.” He said softly, helping Peter settle down on a seat, his heart sinking as he gently peeled the slightly bloody, iodine-stained blanket away to see Peter’s injuries. “Oh, god. You look like you got hit by a train.”

“You don’t know how right you are.” Peter said hoarsely, and Happy gave him a dubious look. He sighed, and the man knelt down to rub Peter’s back gently. “Happy, I…”

“C’mon, Peter. You have to tell me everything.” He gave Peter a once-over, and winced. “_While _I patch you up. I thought they helped you out?”

“First-aid kit was kinda rudimentary.” Peter said quietly, but Happy was already opening the on-board first aid kit, looking through the contents as Peter looked down at the ground. “Happy… I messed up.”

“People mess up all the time, kid. You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific than that.” He said, and settled down in front of Peter again, reaching forward gently to start cleaning up the cuts on his face. Peter laughed dejectedly, and made a move to shake his head, but Happy tutted at him to hold still. He obeyed, sighing tiredly. 

“I really, _ really _ messed up.” Peter’s voice dissolved into a sob, and Happy hummed sympathetically, frowning as Peter began to cry anew. “I… I met a boy.”

“Interesting. Does May know you swing that way?”

“Both ways, actually.” Peter said meekly. “And yeah, she does. Mr. Stark knew too.” 

“That’s nice.” Happy smiled slightly, and Peter laughed. “So, tell me about this boy.”

Peter sighed, and finally got to shake his head when Happy moved around to Peter’s back to get started on the large cut on his shoulder. The man hissed softly, shaking his head. 

“This looks bad.” 

“Feels bad, too.” Peter said gingerly, and winced as Happy got to work on stitching his wound closed.

“So, what’s this guy’s name? What’s he like?”

“Beck.” Peter said. “Quentin… Beck. My friends called him Mysterio, and for a time, I thought he was a superhero.”

“Thought?”

“He turned out to be fake, Happy.” Peter murmured. “Everything he told me was a lie—and I believed him. I _ trusted _ him.”

“Why?”

“He was wonderful, Happy.” He said. “Just… _ perfect._” He buried his face in his hands, and Happy tutted, gently prying Peter’s hands away from his face, and Peter looked up at him, eyes shining with tears and looking every inch a kicked puppy. “And that’s _ exactly _ why I messed up.” His voice quivered, and Happy shook his head, scooping Peter up into his arms as the boy began to cry. “I got a crush on someone, and suddenly I let some supervillain gain access to all the world’s security, a Stark satellite up in space, I—” Peter buried his face into the crook of Happy’s neck. “I gave him the only thing Mr. Stark left behind for me,” he said shakily. “And now he’s gonna kill my friends and half of Europe.”

Happy sighed, and held him close. He looked down at the half-stitched wound, and smiled weakly at the sight of it closing itself up to meet the stitches halfway. So much for that, he supposed. He reached down to gently cut the thread free, setting it down on the table beside him with a sigh.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It _ is _ my fault!” Peter shouted, jerking away from Happy to get up, whirling around in place as he ran his hands through his hair, feeling his tears prick his eyes again. “It _ is _ my fault, Happy, I _ let _ Mr. Beck _ into my life, _ and I let him do _ whatever _ he wanted to me! I was being distracted, and stupid, and now people are going to _ die, and it’s on me!_”

Peter stopped, realising that he’d screamed at Happy, but the man simply stared at him. The teen shook his head, sighing in defeat as he dropped down onto the seat across Happy, running his hand through his hair as he shook his head.

“I gave him _ everything, _ I let him take advantage of me, control of me, I… Mr. Stark would be so disappointed in me.”

“Peter,” Happy sighed, pulling away from the teen, but he shook his head.

“I let him _ use _ me, Happy. He… _ abused _me.” He said shakily, pressing his hands to his thighs, and the man’s eyes widened. “And now, I’ve put my friends in danger. I just—” Peter shook his head, frustrated. “I’m sorry. I just shou…” He took a shaky breath, and tried to meet Happy’s gaze. “I just really miss him.”

“Yeah, I miss him too.” Happy nodded, and they fell quiet for a moment. Peter shuddered, and looked down at his hands.

“Everywhere I go, I see his face.” His voice grew strained, as he began to cry anew, his anxieties and fears bubbling up his throat like a creeping vine that strangled the strength out of his voice. “The whole world is asking who’s gonna be the next Iron Man, and…” He sniffled. “I dunno if that’s me, Happy. I’m not—I’m not Iron Man, that’s not me. I _ can’t—_I can’t replace Mr. Stark, _ especially not _after what I just did.” 

“Yeah, you’re not Iron Man.” Happy said gently, and Peter flinched. “You’ll never be Iron Man.” He huffed fondly, and he shook his head. “Nobody can live up to Tony.” Happy said quietly, and Peter fell still, watching as the man sat back with a sad little smile on his face. 

“I knew Tony—he was my best friend. And he was a mess.”

Peter blinked at him, a single tear rolling down his cheek as Happy smiled back at him. 

“He second-guessed everything he did. He was all over the place.” He said. “The one thing that he did that he didn’t second guess was picking you.”

Peter’s eyes widened at him.

“I don’t think Tony would have done what he did if he didn’t know that you were gonna be here after he was gone.” Happy got up, stepping closer to Peter as the boy began to crumble. “You’ll never be Iron Man, Peter, but you can still be Spider-Man. Tony knew that. He saw that in you.”

“But I—”

“Even after all that.” He said gently. “Besides, the kid I know wouldn’t have done all that willingly.” He stood up, and pulled Peter into a hug. The teen melted against him, sighing tiredly as Happy rubbed his back. “May didn’t raise a bad kid. I know that.”

Peter huffed softly. “I _ knew _ there was something between you two.” He mumbled, and Happy laughed helplessly, pulling away to look down at Peter, who was finally smiling. 

“You can do it, kid.” He said, gently carding his hand through Peter’s hair. “Now, your friends are in trouble, you’re all alone, your tech is missing. What’re you gonna do about it?”

Peter looked up at Happy, and his expression hardened. 

“I’m gonna kick his ass.” He said, and Happy backed off, shaking his head fondly. 

“I mean—I mean right now. Like, specifically, what’re we gonna do? Because we’ve been hovering over a tulip field for the last 15 minutes.” He stuttered, and Peter jumped, running his hand through his hair.

“R-right. Uh. I can’t call my friends, he’s tracking their phones, uh, gimme your phone?” He asked, and Happy was content to let Peter finally come back to being himself again—the superhero that thrived under stressful conditions, and he felt a pang of nostalgia wash over him. Like it was so many years ago when he was a disgruntled Head of Security and Peter was an annoying teenager he’d been tasked to babysit.

It had been Peter’s homecoming, back then, and he chose to do the right thing over running away. Now, here he was, doing the same thing again, and while Happy wouldn’t fault him if Peter wanted to run away from this wretched man who went so far as to _ rape _him, he was immensely proud of Peter. 

May would be so proud of him, too, he knew. Peter was a wonderful kid. Those who loved him were the luckiest people in the world, Happy knew.

When he played Back In Black as he settled down to fly the plane to London, he heard Peter chirp from behind him—

“I _ love _ Led Zeppelin!” 

He resisted the urge to laugh. He didn’t resist the smile that crossed his face, though, and he shook his head fondly as he turned his attention back to the skies. 

“Tony,” he said quietly, a kind warmth blossoming in his chest. “I think we’ll be alright.” 

Happy looked over his shoulder at Peter, who was hard at work, still huddled in his fleece blanket he got from the Netherlands, and smiled a little bit wider. 

“He’s a strong kid.” He murmured, nodding as he sat back properly in his seat, sighing in contentment as he shut his eyes. “He’ll be okay.”

Tony saw the diamond that was Peter’s heart—it was going to take much, much more than a dead man to break him. More than just a coward who hid behind drones, more than a monster who sunk to the lowest of lows with blood on his hands and sins crawling on his back like vengeful tarantulas.

That Beck man better watch his back, he thought. Spider-Man was going to kick his ass, he just _ knew _it.  


**Author's Note:**

> (overworking myself? i don't know her!)
> 
> ok i give up on the asshole end note here's another funny tweet i guess
>
>> some idiot: Jake’s not coming back to the mcu lmao have you seen the movie  
mr beck, an intellectual: [pic.twitter.com/WceGlsI97F](https://t.co/WceGlsI97F)
>> 
>> — 🔮 bukkun, MSc 🌟 Spider-Man PS4 🕷 (@trickscd) [July 16, 2019](https://twitter.com/trickscd/status/1151163615753322496?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


End file.
